


Love in Verbal Nouns

by Sunfreckle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Less of a story and more of a series of short looks into their relationship, Nonbinary Jehan, Other, Short Chapters, Trans Montparnasse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: Five short snippets to coax Montparnasse deeper into love and Jehan deeper into happiness.





	1. Rambling

Montparnasse knows he is pretty much the last person that can be called an expert on being someone’s boyfriend, but looking back he really hadn’t expected there to be so much walking. Because being Jehan’s boyfriend (among many other  _wonderful_  things) means a lot of walking. Or, more specifically, rambling. There’s a difference, at least Jehan says so. Something to do with not knowing where you’re going and letting your feet find the way.

It seems to Montparnasse that the main difference is that when it comes to rambling, there is no way of knowing when you need to squeeze through a gap in a fence or suddenly slip down an unbearably muddy or dusty path. This makes it very hard to dress for Jehan’s outings, or at least it was before Montparnasse figured out that as long as  _Jehan_  didn’t know where they were going to end up, they didn’t mind if  _he_  did.

So Montparnasse, who had lived in this city a lot longer than Jehan, took them rambling in places he thought they might enjoy. All of them unusual, most of them hidden, nearly all of them requiring trespassing and a fair few some light breaking and entering. 

To his delight and amusement Jehan  _loved_ all of this. The stranger, the more clandestine, the more unexpected the place, the more they adore it. And Montparnasse is more than willing to indulge them. If only to see their eyes light up with eager admiration or to feel their fingers squeeze his hand as they turn a corner. They always ask him how he knows the places. They insist on knowing the first time he found them and want to hear every single detail he remembers. 

That was another thing Montparnasse had to learn. Jehan values honesty almost above everything else, but the embellishment of a story isn’t a lie for them. Stories live by their own truths. So he embellishes, just a little, and tells them tales of dark discoveries until their eyes shine. And his stories always end with a kiss.

All the best stories do.


	2. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4WrU5nLn9g) and a clever anon on tumblr~

Jehan’s music taste is ‘eclectic’. That’s putting it mildly actually. Their taste in music is about as coherent as their taste in clothes. Tonight the tombola of their mind has decided on rock however, and Montparnasse is more than happy to indulge them. They  _might_  be bit tipsy by now and Montparnasse grins as Jehan dances through the room, shaking their hair and jumping in time with the music.

_“She bats her eyes and lies about her ring-”_

Jehan bats their eyes as well and grabs at Montparnasse’s hand, finally managing to drag him off the couch. He grins away his reluctance as soon as they wrap their arms around him. Luckily he doesn’t need to be drunk to dance with Jehan. They both know how to move and since there’s no one watching they move wonderfully. Jehan’s eyes are starry and their cheeks flushed as they sing with conviction:

_“But if you reap what you sow, it doesn’t matter where you go!  
The Wiskey! The Liar! The Thief!”_

Montparnasse twirls them around and only pulls them back in when the music slows down to a bridge. Jehan isn’t singing just now, so Montparnasse kisses them. Jehan forgets to dance and kisses back with so much enthusiasm that it makes him grin. The drums and guitars kick in again and when Jehan pulls away with a smile Montparnasse becomes aware of the lyrics for just a moment. He doesn’t usually listen to lyrics that much, not unless he’s making an effort (or Jehan is singing them, but even then he’s often too busy watching the movement of their lips to  _really_  pay attention to the words).

_“A toast to those who stole another day…  
A round to those who lied to get away…”_

Jehan must have seen the frown pass over his face, because the laughing look in their eyes turns questioning. “What’s wrong?” they ask, arms now wrapped loosely around his neck.

“Nothing,” Montparnasse shakes his head. Sometimes it feels like he stole Jehan. Stole what they have. He doesn’t even know from whom. The universe? Probability?

Jehan smiles at him, softly. “I thought you didn’t listen to lyrics,” they hum.

Montparnasse smiles in spite of himself. “I thought  _you_  assured me you couldn’t actually read minds.”

They laugh.

“Sing the part about hell again, I liked that better,” he grins.

“Mmm, maybe later,” Jehan murmurs and they raise themself up on their toes, bringing their face towards his.

Their lips meet again in the silence that follows the end of the song… A beat later the first brass sounds of “Irresistible” kick in and Montparnasse forgets what he was thinking about entirely.


	3. Fidgeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Adrian back what seems like an absolute age ago <3

“Really living up to your name, little bird,” Montparnasse scolds affectionately. “Stop fidgeting…”

Jehan is trying, they really are, but this is part of the reason they never took the time and put in the effort to learn how to do this themself. Make-up takes so long. Well,  _good_  make-up takes so long. Jehan can get by just fine, but what they do is nothing like what Montparnasse is capable of. Or would be capable of if Jehan was able to hold still long enough.

“Better,” Montparnasse hums and he carefully lifts a stray strand of hair away from their face.

Jehan looks up at him, taking in the glossy dark curls framing the attentive expression on his face. Montparnasse will never let them watch him when he’s working, not even when he’s just making phone calls, but Jehan imagines it would be the same sort of focus on his face as now. Because he takes this very seriously.

“I wasn’t done yet,” he says. “Close your eyes.”

“I’d have less trouble sitting still if I could look at you,” Jehan says, forming their mouth into half a pout for good measure.

A slight smirk pulls on the corner of Montparnasse’s mouth. His own make-up is already done and it’s impeccable. Looking at it had made Jehan give in to his coaxing and allowed him to try something similar on them, but now they are almost regretting that choice. Because Montparnasse is very close and they really don’t feel like sitting still anymore.

“You can look at me all you like while I’m doing your lips,” Montparnasse says amusedly.

Jehan lets out a murmur and closes their eyes. Their boyfriend’s touches don’t quite tickle, but they are far too gentle to feel like their only goal is to apply make-up. Jehan doesn’t try to open their eyes again, but they lift their hands up off their lap and reach forward until they can rest them on Montparnasse’s hips.

He makes an amused sound, but doesn’t object. Jehan knows that that that sound comes with a change of expression and it is agony not to be able to see it. As soon as he retracts his hands Jehan lifts up their eyes again. Their lashes feel just a tad heavy and they blink a few times, making Montparnasse smile. His lips are red, wine red and perfect.

“Beautiful,” Montparnasse says appreciatively and it’s clear that he’s barely talking about his own handiwork. He admires them a moment longer and then he turns to the little case on the side table again. “You said you didn’t want your lips too dark,” he begins. “But I think this would look  _very_  good on you.”

Jehan isn’t looking at the lipstick he’s holding, they’re looking at his mouth. “I like the colour you’ve got,” they say coyly.

Montparnasse’s eyes flit to theirs and Jehan pulls on his hips to induce him to come a little closer. When they first met him, his lips were stained red with wine. Almost the same shade, but not quite so flawless…

“Can I try some of yours?” they coax and the look in Montparnasse’s eyes has darkened just a bit. He leans forward a little, involuntarily most likely, because Jehan can tell he’s conflicted. Montparnasse is an artist at heart, in all things that he does, and letting Jehan distract him now would be leaving a creation unfinished.

But Jehan’s mind is full of gentle touches to their face and hair and they want to know if Montparnasse’s mouth tastes as good as it looks right now. They know it does, of course, but they want proof. They reach up and curl their fingers around the front of Montparnasse’s shirt, gently pulling him towards them.

“It won’t come off you know,” Montparnasse says, sinking his voice now his face is right in front of Jehan’s.

Jehan smiles as innocently as they can while their eyes are locked with his. “You mean it won’t come off  _easily_.”

The single second of fond frustration on Montparnasse before he gives in and presses his mouth against theirs sets off a spark in Jehan’s chest. They hum happily into the kiss and release Montparnasse’s collar so they can slide their hand into his hair instead. Montparnasse sighs and kisses them deeper, nearly making Jehan smile against his lips. Kisses sweeter than wine… Who cares if they’re cliché’s as long as they taste this good.


	4. Listening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Elise, after I got obsessed with [this song](https://soundcloud.com/kategriffinbanjo/the-blackest-crow).

It’s too dark in Jehan’s bedroom to see much more than shadowy contours, set off against the last pale light coming through the window. They could reach out and turn on the little lamp on the bedside table, but they don’t. Because Montparnasse’s fingers are tangled with theirs and the two of them have sunk into a comfortable silence, nothing but soft music filling the room. Jehan wants to lie like this a little longer and pretend it’s just the two of them, that there is nothing for the lamp to light, only them.

Montparnasse thumb traces an absent-minded pattern across Jehan’s palm and they close their eyes for a moment.

“Your music turned melancholy again.”

Jehan opens their eyes again and they turn their face towards Montparnasse’s. They cannot quite make out his face, but they know he’s looking at them. “You think so?” they hum softly.

Montparnasse shifts his weight a little, not letting go of their hand but reaching out with his other to smooth down a wayward lock of their hair. Perhaps it was disrupting their silhouette. “This piece is,” he says quietly.

The soft guitar and violin in the background carry on undisturbed, not deterred by Montparnasse’s opinion. Jehan listens and smiles. At the music, but also at Montparnasse’s fingers brushing softly past their jawline as he retracts his hand again.

“This isn’t a sad song,” Jehan contradicts fondly. “It reminds me of you.”

They hear Montparnasse’s smile in his breathing. “Not the most convincing argument,” he says and Jehan would be willing to get lost in the low tones of his voice, if they didn’t disagree so strongly with the sentiment hidden behind it.

They close their hand tighter around Montparnasse’s and search for the right words to argue with him. Something that does not draw him out and that will not disturb this drowsy twilight they were already so unwilling to give up.

It is hard to sing lying on their back and they have to turn their gaze back to the ceiling to do so, but they sing. Following the violin’s melody and softly drawing out each word, so that Montparnasse can not mistake their meaning. This is not a sad song. Not to them. And Jehan’s voice is sweet, not melancholy.

_“I wish my breast were made of glass, wherein you might behold_  
_Upon my heart your name lies wrote, in letters made of gold_  
 _In letters made of gold, my love, believe me when I say_  
 _You are the one that I adore, until my dying day”_

Jehan keeps their eyes fixed on the shadows of the ceiling, but even looking away from him, even in the near-dark, they can feel Montparnasse’s eyes on them. They don’t know how much he can see. If he can see the blush creeping up from their neck. If he can’t, he can probably feel it. But they don’t stop singing. Because the third verse is as important as the second and he needs to hear it.

_“The blackest crow that ever did fly, will surely turn to white_  
_If ever I prove false to you, bright day will turn to night_  
 _Bright day will turn to night, my love, the elements will mourn_  
 _If ever I prove false to you, the seas will rage and burn…”_

Montparnasse moves and Jehan’s lips still, even if the music doesn’t yet. Jehan’s eyes are wide open, but Montparnasse is nothing but a dark shape above them. He’d be like a shadow if it hadn’t been for the warmth of his body, suddenly much closer than before and Jehan smiles. Brilliant enough that they imagine Montparnasse can see it even with no light and with their faces so close that there’s barely any distance between them.

Jehan presses their lips against Montparnasse’s and he kisses them back with all the frantic eagerness of unspoken words. But he doesn’t have to say them, Jehan can taste them. That is more than enough.


	5. Staying

The bed is soft and warm and Jehan is so heavy with comfort and sleep that they really don’t know why they’re even awake. They halfway open their eyes, but their lashes are heavy, and they flutter shut again almost instantly. Jehan is just aware of having seen something light up in the darkness though, and surely that isn’t right. They extend a hand towards their side and their nose scrunches up in dismay. They are grabbing onto an empty patch of mattress. That isn’t right either.

“Parnasse?” they mutter drowsily, but right at that moment a gentle hand closes around theirs, preventing it from having to reach out further.

“Right here,” the quiet reply comes from the dark.

But it's not really dark, Jehan realises as they open their eyes again. That odd glow is coming from Montparnasse’s phone. And he’s sitting up…

“…where are you going?” they protest weakly, pulling on Montparnasse’s arm slightly and pressing their nose and mouth to the back of his hand.

“Nowhere,” Montparnasse whispers and Jehan’s half-closed eyes blink as the darkness is suddenly complete again.

The soft sounds of Parnasse laying his phone aside again barely reach Jehan, whatever of their mind is awake enough is waiting for Montparnasse to return to their side. When he does, they smile a drowsy smile into their duvet and snuggle up against his side, nudging their head against his as they rest it on his shoulder.

“What were you doing?” they slur, eyes already unwilling to open again.

“Nothing,” Montparnasse breathes quietly, his arm drawing close around them.

Jehan nuzzles against his neck, pressing a kiss into the soft curve. They try to ask again, but it comes out as nothing but a vague hum as they’re pulled back into sleep. They’re already fast asleep again when Montparnasse speaks again, softly, in the kind dark of their bedroom:

“…just deleting some old contacts.”

And a calm settles over the both of them, softly and silently, as the room fills with sleep and security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ❤︎


End file.
